Getting Better
by heypandora
Summary: tamsiblings centric : . And sometimes she just wants to get better for him, but only so it wasn't all for nothing.


.

.

**II.**

She thinks he's just like the rest. He's just like those pretty boys in white coats who whispered to her such lies, lies, lies and made her believe them more than anything else.

It probably not all there fault, either, she wanted to believe in false promises so badly. She wanted to believe there was more to this than hurt, pain and the screams. She wanted to believe that there was something after the pain and the nightmares. Stronger, faster, better, they said, but no one mentioned the spiders they put in her brain that ate and ate until everything was just gone. Broke her, they broke her in a million pieces of pretty shiny glass on the floor. Better, better, better was all they whispered, it's what they promised,

_iS THiS WHAT BETTER iS?!_

"It'll make you better," he whispers, fighting her, and she can't help but remember that's they said. It'll make you stronger, faster, better, better, better.

It's him, she tells herself, it that one who held your hand so many, many times ago, but she can't help but want to run, to squirm, to kick.

"It's make you better," he whispers, but in the end, it just makes her sick. The medicine's swirling in her stomach and breaking her all over again,

_JUST LiKE THEY DiD JUST LiKE THEY DiD! _

No, she whispers to herself, bandaging her brain with another temporary fix, it's him – he's no monster like them. Pretty, loving, protecting brother who risked everything for her, he loves her.

"It'll make you better," he whispers and clutches her fist. Aren't I better enough?

The preacher man's bible is just all wrong so she takes it upon herself to make it all better but she can't use needles like the other's, so she edits and edits to make it correct. She doesn't understand why she's in the wrong. Everyone is trying to make me better; I'm trying to make it better. Make it all shiny, perfect, pretty, right.

He shakes his head and says sweetly, "Sweetie, you can't do that," and she just doesn't understand. She does what the other's do to her when she has to get better, she forces. Steals the pages, edits when he's not looking – he shakes his head when he goes to read. She wants to throw his wonderful 'good book' at his head. She's just trying to make everything better, is that so bad?

.

And so she stands in red blood, dripping off her dress. She can't quite remember how. He stares at her like she's done something wrong, she can't comprehend what. Blood, blood — there's so much blood. Blood on her hands, blood on her knees, and she whispered, like a child, so confused,

"Am I better yet?" and she notices that they're all dead—just dead, not breathing, no heart beat, no brain activity, no breathing, no breathing, just all dead and broken and bruised and dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

"What did you do?" and she really just doesn't know anymore.

.

.

.

**I.**

They look at her like it's her fault – silly little River making herself more ill. Her heart is just banging against the wall and she's trying to stop it – but she can't. So she pushes him, Simon, her loving, loving brother who's just trying to help her, away when he pokes those horrible things into her in her skin, _AM i GOiNG TO SLEEP AGAiN?_ because she has to make herself better. He says to not look, brushing the needle along her veins, and she tries obeys (because he gave up _everything_ to save her from this buzzing hell and she can't help but think he failed) but she ends end pushing her away again - only because she has to make herself better.

She has to make herself better.

Those white coated people said she was completely alone so she has to get better alone. They were completely right – she's completely alone. _He's_ just temporary.

She screams that word that begins with 'N,' and ends with 'O,' and tells him not to touch (she's so fragile, she'll shatter), but he refuses. He holds her down when she fights because it's _for her own good_ and she scars him again and again and again with the needle/the lamp/her nails but he doesn't let her go.

"Mei-mei, River, sweetie, calm down, it's me, it's me," and she sobs in his arms because it's just all she can do (she's so strong, but she's weak).

Alone, alone, alone, she knows and screams to herself, "Just let me be because I'll be alone soon," but she doesn't realized she's screaming out loud and the whole crew can hear. The preacher man is praying (_again_) and Mal asks in Simon needs help. Of course he says no and he's lying because he needs so much help because she's just not getting _any _better. She's harmed him enough and gives in – needle sinks in – and she just sobs and sobs and sobs until every single tear has been drained from those pretty eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers, tending to his own wounds: craw marks on his wrist, hands, and thighs. He's worried they'll get infected – like he was given them by an animal (and, in retrospect, he's right). She's holding her arm where the needle tainted her like blood rushing out and she's trying to keep the pretty sheets white because red is such an unflattering color.

"You won't be alone ever again," and she shakes her head because he can't promise that. She's alone – she is completely alone. Everyone's leaves her, her parents threw her to them like bait and he'll leave her like they did too. It's just a matter of time.

"I would die to save you," and her blood boils over at that word: die, die, die. He goes to leave her in her room (completely alone, as irony would have it).

"Don't," she mutters as he reaches the door, "I'm not worth it," and he laughs.

"Yes, you are."

.

.

* * *

.

_NOTES_:

**1**. Updating old fanfiction — 9/2/09

**2. **— My River voice is all wrong. She's so wonderfully sanily insane, I just can't write it.

.

.


End file.
